Artifact

“I know where you’re going and what you’re going to do,” he said. “McKendry told me all about it. I’m coming along.”

“Not a chance,” Peta said quietly. “It’s my plane and you’re not getting on it.”

He blocked her path. “You’retellingme what to do?”

“Yup. Now get out of my way.”

Frik didn’t move.

“You heard the lady, Van Alman,” Ray said.

“Even if we wanted you on board, you’re in no shape to come,” Peta added.

Frik stood his ground. Peta and Ray walked around him and headed for the plane. He followed them. Peta slowed down almost imperceptibly. When he was so close that she could feel his breath on her neck, she stopped in her tracks and turned around, forcing him to step aside.

“What part of ‘no’ do you not understand?”

Frik stared at her, eyes filled with hatred. Waving his bandaged hand perilously close to her face, he said, “You’ll regret this, bitch. One hand—no hands—I’m twice as good as any woman.”

30

In early June, standing at the head of Oilstar’s La Brea dock, McKendry looked over his assault team. Except for the fact that Ma

The three men Bruzual had sent slouched together against one of the pilings, smoking Peta’s cigarettes and polishing their weapons. The one called José drew his knife against a stone to sharpen the edge. As he spun it, McKendry saw the initials J.R. etched into the pommel.

“You’re his buddies. Where the devil is Sheppard?” McKendry looked at Peta and Ray accusingly.

“Triple A to the rescue,” Ma

According to Ma

“So when do we leave?” José sheathed his knife and rested his hand on the butt of his pistol.

“When we’ve all memorized the sketch,” Ray answered. He looked none too happy with the man’s apparent bloodlust. “Meanwhile, let’s go over what we know.”

“Again?” Another of Bruzual’s men, Diego.

“Yes,” Ray said. “Again. Peta?”

“As far as we know, Selene’s group lost several members during the raid on theYucatán . They probably have between ten and twenty members left, hiding in the jungle, pla

“We figure the Indians will disappear as soon as they see trouble,” McKendry added.

“You’re right,” Ma

Ray nodded. “I’m going to say this one more time. No violence except in self-defense. We’re there to disable the camp and find Frik’s piece of jewelry.”

“And Selene,” McKendry said. “I hope I can keep my hands off her neck long enough to hand her over to Bruzual for trial.”

Peta looked at him with a worried expression, but Ray, who knew him better, just gri

As day became night, with Ma

In the lowlands of eastern Venezuela, the slick whisper of water in the caños was like a wet tongue moving through the grasses, thick weeds, and leaf-heavy branches. The night songs of crickets and frogs in the dense underbrush made a din that masked the sounds of the quiet movement of the oars. The fiberglass boat prowled like a piranha through the narrow rivulets. Now, the low strumming of a guitar was added to the nocturnal orchestra as Ma

The terrorists, falsely secure in their isolation, had not thought to have anyone keep watch.

With Ma

McKendry heard a rustle of palm fronds, small monkeys or rodents scampering across the thatched hut roofs. Through the leaves of a fern he was using as cover, he saw the intense white lights of Coleman lanterns set on tables and attracting swarms of jungle insects. The air smelled of hot oil, fried fish and bananas, and bitter tobacco smoke.

As he climbed the pole behind Ma

Other than that, the compound was quiet. McKendry wondered briefly what had happened to the musician’s girlfriend. Perhaps, he thought, she’s already in bed, somewhere out of sight. He knew that in the jungle, people bedded down once darkness fell, and rose with the dawn. He and his team pla

Ma

McKendry motioned for José to slip across to the next dwelling, where the guitarist was making enough noise to muffle their stealthy approach. The mercenary moved like a shadow into the hut and behind the guitar player. There was a flash of metal, a jangling chord, and the guitar fell silent, leaving the jungle with only the insects and amphibians to provide music. Bruzual’s man eased the guitar player back in his chair as he died.

“No,” Ray said, his voice low and angry.

José looked up at him through the window and made an apologetic gesture, as if he’d had no choice but to do what he had done.

“Thank God,” a Green Impact member grumbled from the next hut, unaware of why the music had stopped but evidently pleased. “Now we can finally get some sleep.”

Peta stifled a gasp and moved forward as if to help the guitar player. Ray stopped her and signaled José to come back. They watched until the guitarist stopped twitching and simply bled onto the uneven floor.

Ray faced the Venezuelan. “Now, get your ass back and disable every last one of their boats,” he whispered angrily. “And remember. If anyone else dies, so will you.”

As a scowling José crept through the mud toward the wider caños, Ray motioned for Terris and Ma

McKendry thought for a moment that Rodolfo would have believed this was exciting. He would have wanted to come along—and he would either have been killed, or have gone back to huddle in the boat, making up stories he would tell later to the women in silvery miniskirts who clung to him in Caracas’s discos and nightclubs.